


Gunfighter

by shadowolfhunter



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/pseuds/shadowolfhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan and Rachel are intrigued, Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson has never been like this before. Humming to himself (off-key), texting, smiling. He's never been this relaxed. The inescapable conclusion: Timothy has a lady in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robmcclanahan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robmcclanahan/gifts), [Moonshine_Givens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/gifts).



Raylan Givens was not a patient man. He had instincts for when someone was keeping secrets from him, and Deputy Tim Gutterson was definitely keeping secrets. It wasn’t just Raylan’s neck hair that said so, the other member of their little team concurred.

Rachel Brooks flicked a glance at Raylan. He made a puzzled face, she raised her eyebrows in response, then Raylan caught on. Tim was humming. A tune. It was even sort of recognizable as music. And that was Tim these days, humming, relaxed, mysterious text messages that made him smile, chuckle to himself and ping back a fast reply. 

It was downright unnerving. The change was sort of gradual, six weeks before Tim had got the shout to go to Louisville, big takedown, more than one sniper pulled in to do the job. Raylan had no idea what had gone down, but Tim came home grinning from ear to ear, and that was when it started.

The next week brought three days in Cincinnati, and suddenly Tim was almost a new man. Then there was the odd day here and there, until three weeks ago.

Three weeks ago brought Happy Tim to life. Humming. Laid back in ways that Raylan and Rachel had never seen before. Even Art was impressed.

Tim was good at hiding his problems. And that was what was so very odd. Normally suggest they might go for a drink and Tim was there instantly, they were all sure that he drank alone as well, then three weeks ago, Raylan suggested a drink, Tim had come along with Rachel and Art, and ordered a cranberry juice. Rachel had leaned across and whispered into Raylan’s ear that maybe he might like to close his mouth, the stranded goldfish gape was not a good look.

The three of them had hedged around the subject until Art had made a comment about cranberry juice and urinary infections that was just too much information, and Tim had just grinned, “need a clear head, got an important date tonight…” and had then refused to be drawn on the subject of who and how and where.

It had set a pattern. The only reason for Happy Tim, this mellow and this laid back would have to be that young Master Gutterson had got himself a lady.

A stage was reached where even Rachel was openly admitting that she wanted to know.

All it took was that quirky little Gutterson smile, the one that said _I was a Ranger sniper, I used to sit in a shitty little bunker waiting around for days to take a shot, d’ya really think y’can out-wait me?_ Raylan glanced across at Rachel. Rachel narrowed her eyes. _Oh yes, Gutterson was going down._

Then there was three weeks of nothing but Happy Tim with a near constant smile on his face, an erratically beeping phone, and a lot less alcohol. Some days he would turn up in the clothes he wore the night before, change in the locker room with a different kind of smile on his face. Satisfied, purring, that sort of smile. The look that Lady Chatterley must have worn on her way back from the woodshed.

Luck had to break Rachel and Raylan’s way some time. Because this exercise in frustration was making Raylan tired.

It took a fugitive, the FBI, and a big standoff in the middle of Lex to bring them closer to the conundrum of Tim’s unusually responsive mood.

FBI on point, the Marshals standing behind to scoop out the fugitives they were certain they had, and SWAT.

The FBI in charge was an idiot. It didn’t take Raylan ten seconds to work that one out. Art wasn’t happy. They were pulling weapons and vests from the backs of their vehicles as Art tried to get some further information on the plan.

Raylan didn’t see her at first, he was getting his vest on, and checking his weapons, pulling out a shotgun. Rachel was busy getting her stuff organized and Tim was just standing there, baseball cap on backwards, ready to go to war with his sniper rifle resting in his arms like an old friend.

“Hey Gutterson!”

Tim turned. “Oh NO! That’s no fair Evers.” 

Raylan looked up to see the cause of that tone in Tim’s voice. One of the SWAT team was coming towards them, _not that unusual, but a woman? Definitely a little unusual._ Raylan had thought he knew all the SWAT team members, but this woman was new. She was rather plain, in her thirties he guessed, she had this shit-eating grin on her face and there was a light in her eyes which goosed Raylan’s neck hair. When Raylan turned to Tim he could see something in his face too, in the restless blue eyes that were sweeping over her, and Raylan just knew that this was the answer to the conundrum of Happy Tim.

“I come bearing gifts.” She was bearing a sniper rifle of even greater size than Tim’s. _Which was the cause of the Oh No._ The massive fifty-caliber weapon had support rests, and ten round mag that the SWAT cop had already loaded into the gun.

Tim actually made a childish sort of grabby-motion with his hands. Raylan shot a glance at Rachel, and they stared round-eyed. Tim never did that sort of thing.

Evers grinned, handing over a strange looking piece of ordnance that Raylan recognized as a Cornershot, and a Glock to go with it. “I’m sure I don’ have to tell you how to work it.”

Since Tim was already putting the gun into the Cornershot, Raylan was sure that diagnosis was correct.

Tim was making pleased noises, and Raylan watched as Evers entered personal space territory. Something that both Rachel and Rayland knew not to do.

Tim didn’t even flinch. Part of his take down routine was to get himself into the right mental balance, and that included having his personal space clear of his fellow human beings.

Or perhaps fellow human beings that did not speak sniper. Evers obviously spoke sniper. Not just sniper, but Tim sniper. That made all the difference.

Raylan watched, their heads were close together, but there was nothing that overt, he wasn’t quite close enough to hear what was being said, but whatever it was, Tim’s face went from happy to tense in a few seconds.

“Care to share?” Raylan asked, as the hairs on the back of his neck rose like a dog’s hackles.

“Deputy… Givens,” Raylan acknowledged his name with a nod, “my Captain thinks the head fibbie is a jackass, and he really would rather none of his team dies today as a result of that. He wants Tim and me to double team it.” Evers nodded.

He couldn’t place the accent, it wasn’t Kentucky that was for sure. This was hardly the time or place for that, so he turned to look where she indicated. Art and a man dressed in the black SWAT uniform walking towards them, deep in conversation. Neither looked happy.

Something very like dread washed through Raylan then. Not that he couldn’t do the necessary, but that people he cared about were going to be put into the firing line because the leadership was incompetent.

People like Tim.

Raylan Givens had been all about the not getting attached, not renting a proper apartment, never really unpacking, never letting his colleagues under his guard. He was sorta fond of Art, because they knew each other from Glynco, but Rachel and Tim were just office buddies. He drank with them, sometimes, he had barbecue with them, sometimes, and sometimes they spent time together in cars or on planes. There was proximity.

Well it seemed as though proximity had given way to something a little more personal. He looked across at Tim, the handy office sniper, who was so much more than just the go to guy for hostage situations and shoot outs.

He looked then at Rachel, and wondered for the first time if all she saw in him was _a good-looking white guy with a shit-load of swagger – her words_. He looked at her and hoped that he was more than that. His detachment had led him to a lonely place.

And this was not the damn time to be thinking about his own short-comings as a partner, a friend _he hoped_ , and the office screw-up.

The SWAT Captain said something to Tim and Evers, Raylan didn’t catch what it was, but it was enough to drop them both into Ranger mode. He’s seen Tim become that other thing before, the skilled hunter, but watching Evers do it, exactly the same, he could almost reach out and touch the force which is rolling off them in waves. That was just a little freaky.

Then Art motioned to him and Rachel, and he went over to talk about their positions and what Art thought they ought to do. The next time he looked, Tim and Evers were gone.

Art wasn’t happy. His team were scattered. SWAT wasn’t happy either. And the FBI were screwing up in a way that was going to get either a Marshal or some of the SWAT team killed. 

The FBI had their own sniper, a man called Calder, he couldn’t match either Tim or SWAT’s sniper, but Clarke, the fibbie asshole in charge had given him the prime position, and a big hole in the defence. Art had lodged his protest, as had Captain Murfield. Now it was wait and see. 

Art really hated wait and see.


	2. The Shot That Could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Fibbies screw up, Tim and Jay save the day.

Murfield was right, Art thought as he scrambled to change position. Clarke was an idiot, and his sniper Calder was incompetent.

Bullets were flying, half their targets had scattered, at least one hostage was dead. At least they had been able to clear the area, so they still had the fourteen hostages to worry about, but no other innocent civilians.

As it was, Art, Raylan and Rachel were too damn close to being pinned down, because Clarke’s strategy was a disaster. Murfield and two of his men were right next to them, the rest of the team spread out, trying to hold the tide back.

Two figures emerged from the doorway opposite and scurried towards them returning fire all the way.

“Tim?” Art took a breath to re-load, “thought you were on the roof?”

“Bad position.” Tim nudged Raylan with his hand, holding out the loaded Cornershot. “Here, use this, and keep your heads down. Jay has a plan to end this.”

Raylan took the device, with a surprised look, “won’t you…”

“Nah.” Tim said.

Art and Raylan looked at each other. Then turned to fire at Rachel’s warning yelp. Art felt a nudge at his elbow, and then Evers was there, holding out another loaded Cornershot. “Use ’em, and keep down low, Tim and I got this.”

Art desperately wanted to say something, but Tim and his friend were already moving away. So Art slumped down and took a second to figure out the Cornershot. Then he and Raylan began to return fire using the device. Then things were moving again as Murfield and his two guys came to join them, and Art gawped in surprise as the small screen of the Cornershot showed two figures scurrying across an open space before coming to rest behind a car.

It took all of a second before Art realised that it was Tim behind the cannon that Evers had been carrying.

The shot when it came was incredibly loud. The silence that followed equally deafening. Somebody yelled something that Art couldn’t hear and there was no more shooting… but some yelling and running.

Art wiped a hand over his face. Dammit. He shot a glance at Raylan and Rachel, to check they were okay, and Rachel had this look on her face that Art could have sworn was admiration, and Raylan… well, Raylan looked as though he had finally caught a clue to Art’s feelings over the many times it had been Raylan’s neck on the line. But something that looked very like pride, and possibly even a little hero-worship was on Raylan’s face too as he got to his feet, and held out a hand to help Art to his.  
Art turned around. They were sauntering down the middle of the street, Tim cradling Evers’ massive fifty-caliber and Evers, what looked like an Uzi from where Art was standing, looking for all the world like conquering heroes. Something was jabbing into Art’s eardrum and he took a flustered moment to sort the screaming out. Clarke was having a fit.

Clearly Evers and Gutterson could hear it too, the swagger became just a little more obvious. Art sighed and rolled his eyes, one grandstanding deputy was enough, two? He turned to Murfield and saw the man had taken out his earpiece, Art ignored Clarke’s screeching and did the same.

“There is going to be a shit-storm about this.” He said in conversational sort of way.

Murfield grinned, “I guess so. But then there will be an even bigger shit-storm after I turn in my report.” There was a little edge at the end of that comment that Art heartily concurred with. Tim and his new friend had brought the entire disaster to an end with one shot.

xxxxxxxx

The Conference Room at the Marshals office was crammed. The SWAT Captain, FBI SAC Clarke and Art locked in conference at the top of the table, only it was more like two against one, until AUSA Vasquez turned up and things started to go a little more sideways. Raylan leaned back against the wall, Rachel next to him, Tim and Evers on the other side, three other members of the SWAT team on the other side of that. Fibbies on the other side of the table. It was looking something like a Mexican stand off.

Clarke was really getting into the swing of things now. He had turned a strange shade of scarlet and was spitting something about Tim’s shot that had ended the mess. “It was Evers’ rifle, why didn’t she take the shot?”

“Because you don’t bring your B team to the A game,” Evers was leaning back against the wall, seemingly relaxed. Raylan, whose life often depended on his ability to read body language knew that she was anything but. “Deputy Gutterson’s field scores and war record speak for themselves. On a good day I can come close, but even Tim’s worst day is close to my best. Tactically speaking to gain the win, I needed to put my ego on hold for the team.”

Tim was actually blushing a little, which was sorta dorky, but the Marshals and SWAT in the room were practically cheering.

It lit Clarke’s touch paper alright. The man was practically puce, making sort of strangled snorting noises as he got up close and personal with Evers. Raylan was slightly surprised that Tim just leaned back and watched, in the background he could see Murfield lay a hand on Art’s arm.

Raylan moved so he could see her face better. He didn’t know what was going down but the rest of her team appeared happy to let Clarke rant, and somehow Raylan knew there was going to be a pay off.

As Clarke spluttered, one of Evers’ eyebrows assumed an arch which left Raylan in no doubt of her opinion of Clarke.

“If we’re screaming titles, it’s Dr Jocasta Evers to you,” Raylan’s eyebrows shot up, “Captain Murfield hired me because I am a tactical specialist, not just a pretty face. I can’t say why they hired you… paperweight or doorstop springs to mind.”

“You can’t speak like that to me.” Screeched Clarke, aware of the suppressed snorts of laughter around the room, even from his own side.

“Newsflash sunshine.” Jay’s eyes hardened. “I just did.” She stared him down a little longer. “Your boy, Davis? He’s dead. Well, that’s on you.”

Clarke was around Raylan’s height, so he had four or five inches on Jay, but Raylan watched her stare him down, watched him wither in front of her anger, and realised that Tim’s girl would be a formidable opponent. The look on Tim’s face was pure pride and a little embarrassment.

Then Jay looked directly at Tim, and damn if it wasn’t like accidently zapping yourself with electricity. Raylan had the feeling that if there hadn’t been a roomful of people, they would have gone at it on the conference room table.


End file.
